


Dean Winchester and the Spiked Kool-Aid

by CLeighWrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ball Massage, Bittersweet Ending, Commission fic, Cowgirl Position, F/M, Inspired by Indiana Jones, Mentions of POTUS Trump, Nazis, POV Change, Pillow Talk, Spiked Kool-Aid, Thule Society (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:00:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27581717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CLeighWrites/pseuds/CLeighWrites
Summary: Dean's an occult professor who hunts the supernatural when he’s not lecturing or grading papers. When Y/N, the woman that left him 10 years ago, is captured on a hunt, Dean sets out to save her.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/You, Past Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Dean Winchester and the Spiked Kool-Aid

**Author's Note:**

> I was going through my WIP docs and opened one up that literally said “Indiana Dean.” I love Indiana Jones, Dean loves Indiana Jones, our world is being run over by Nazis again... let's DO THIS!
> 
> I wrote this for my Patreon Master!

“So, there’s actual, scientifically proven benefits to many supposed ‘spells’ that witches used at tinctures and healing potions, which turns out were just herbal teas!” Dean’s class laughs at his—obviously lame—joke. “Any questions about the uses of herbs and homeopathic remedies in the early days of science and how it relates to the occult?”

More than half of the ladies raise their hands, which makes up approximately seventy-five percent of his class. “Uh, Cassie.”

“So, is there an, um.” She stops and smiles to herself. Dean already knows where this question is heading; it’s the same every semester. “A scientifically proven, like, love potion?”

Many of the other girls laugh with her, and a couple of the guys, as well. Dean had long since given up on teaching students who had an actual interest in the occult; most of them had gotten word through one of those teacher-rating websites that Dean was “hot” and “available.” As if he’d ever date one of his students, none of them could hold a candle to  _ her _ .

He grinned to himself, never disappointed in his students trying to get a one-up on their classmates using the watered-down magic he taught at the university. “Um, not that I’m aware of. But what’s not to love about a hot cup of coffee first thing in the morning?” 

There were the predictable huffs of disappointment mixed in with just as many chuckles in agreement. Dean ignored the phone vibrating in his pocket.

“So, over the weekend, I’d like each of you to choose an herb, plant, or flower that is polymorphic and explain how and what uses it has. At least five hundred words,” his classroom door opened, and a familiar face walked through. “Um, MLA format. Due at the beginning of class on Monday.”

Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket, acknowledged the missed text from the head of the Jewish Studies Department, who was currently in his classroom, then the time. He had three minutes until the end of class, but he’d said what he needed to and given out the weekend’s homework; his old friend’s timely entrance was to his student’s benefit. 

“Alright, that’s all I’ve got for y’all today, so…,” he glanced over at Aaron. “Email me if you have any questions about the assignment.”

The shuffling of books and metallic  _ zing _ of zippers filled the room as the students packed up their things and prepared to leave. As per usual, someone stopped at his desk on their way out, clearly burning with intellectual curiosity. 

“Um, Professor Winchester?”

“Yes, Mindy?” She _ might have a legitimate question _ .

“I was, uh, wondering….” She leaned on his desk, drawing attention to her tank top tight across her chest.  _ Maybe not so legitimate, then.  _ “Will there be any kind of  _ extra credit _ before the midterm?”

“You don’t need any, but if you’d like to do some extra work, I could find something for you to do.” Dean answered in his most “teacher-like” voice. “I could always use help filing papers and organizing my plans for the coming weeks. Or you could write another essay on a topic of your choice that we haven’t discussed in class yet.”

Her face fell, and Dean  _ almost _ felt bad for her. “Oh. Okay, I guess I’ll get back to you. Have a good weekend, Professor.”

“Have a good weekend, Mindy.” Dean shook his head and smiled to himself as she walked out of the room. “What is it, Aaron? Don’t tell me Hitler’s back again? Pretty sure I got him good the last time!” Dean chuckled, still proud as hell that he’d killed Hitler; if only Hitler were the only influential asshole that had risen to power based on biases and prejudices and hatred.  _ Hmm... Washington wasn’t  _ that _ far away. There had to be  _ something _ hinky going on there. _

The smile he had worn in greeting slipped away as he switched to business mode. “Dean, it’s….”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “‘It’s’ what, Aaron? Spit it out.” He continued packing his papers into his satchel, which Sam had teased him for having, calling it a “man bag.”

“It’s… Y/N, Dean.” Dean snapped his head to look at Aaron to see if he was fucking with him. “They’ve got her. After last weekend, they didn’t want to take any chances.”

“How did they even get to her?!” Dean was furious, after everything he’d done to protect her, keep her out of his hunting life. And now she was in danger because of him. 

“They’re in a warehouse outside of Annapolis. I don’t know for sure how many. Golly didn’t get a good look.”

Dean laughed and clung to the distraction. “‘Golly’? Like ‘golly-gee, what is this giant clay man running around’?”

“Well, you made fun of me for calling him ‘Lemey’!”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t Of Mice and Men, although he shouldn’t pet kittens… or ladies for that matter.” 

“ _ Anyway _ ,  _ Golem _ found them and reported back that they had her in that warehouse with them. They’re preparing something big if they grabbed her to keep you distracted.”

“Tell me about it.” Dean slung his satchel over his shoulder. “Dammit, Y/N, what have you gotten yourself into now?”

_ Fucking neo-nazis _ . If being asshole, bigoted racists weren’t bad enough, they’d started spelling people with actual fucking Kool-Aid at their hate rallies. If it hadn’t been for one of your friends, who had been on the fence about everything going on with the police, suddenly turning into a hate spouting bigot toward you, you might not have even noticed. Some people were just from families of centuries-old entitled people that genuinely didn’t realize that racism was such a systemic issue in America. 

You would have called Dean straight away when you realized they were literally dosing the people at the rally, but then you’d seen someone you’d never forget:  _ Hanz _ ; one of the Thule. Somehow he’d survived Sam and Dean’s attack and hadn’t been chased down by Aaron and his Golem yet. You’d seen the Golem peeking in a couple of hours ago; hopefully, he’d recognized you and had let Aaron know, who would go running to tell Dean.  _ Dammit _ !

After he’d benched you on a simple hunt about ten years ago, you’d sworn him off. Even after he’d told you that it was because he couldn’t risk you getting hurt. You’d both cried, but you couldn’t be with someone who was literally going to hold you back from a fight, and he couldn’t let you be in danger. There was no compromising with Dean Winchester once he set his mind to something. You were both too stubborn for your own good. So, after he left, you’d packed up your stuff and hadn’t looked back since.

Your head throbbed from being knocked out, and your legs were going numb from sitting in the position they had you in for however long they’d had you tied up. The ropes that bound your wrists and ankles were not the fun kind, and the coarse fibers were starting to dig into your skin from your trying to wriggle free. If you could only get your pocket knife from your boot, you could cut through your bonds.

Since you had nothing better to do than try to plan your escape, you listened to the men around you as they passed through the massive room where you were being held captive. There was a rally coming up that would be monumental to their cause, and they needed to make sure their guest of honor was uninterrupted once he arrived. You could only guess who they were talking about, but you had a reasonably good idea that he lived in a massive slave-built, white plantation house in Washington DC and had way too much time on his hands if his tweet count was any indication. Of course, these neo-Nazis were the cause of this massive resurgence and the supposed “coming out of the wood-work” of  _ so many _ supporters. The dumbass President had all but sold his soul to the literal Third Reich!

Magical fucking Nazis working with these backwoods, racist assholes to take over the entire fucking US; it was worse than when Dick was around. Dean had killed Hitler, but the snakes had gone out and found another head instead of dying off like they should have.  _ How had no one figured it out before now? Or did people know and just not know how to take them out? How many hunters didn’t know how to handle the Thule? Nazis are the worst! _

By late afternoon, a massive boiler pot had been brought in, along with bags and bags of sugar and flavoring, and several baskets of different herbs. They were setting up to make a giant batch of their brainwashing juice, and you were tied to a chair, watching it all happen. It had been hours.  _ Where’s Dean? _

You jerked when you heard breathing very close behind you, then heard a knife click open. “Miss me, Y/N/N?” Dean’s deep voice ghosted over your ear from behind, and the shiver that ran down your spine was only because of the suddenness of his being there and breathing on you, not because it was  _ his _ .

“No, just get me out of here!” you whispered back. You struggled against your bonds to show your impatience. 

“Alright, sweetheart, I don’t have to cut you loose, yet. I could let you sit here while we go kill us some Nazis.” Dean laughed, even as he cut your right arm free.

“You wouldn’t  _ dare _ .” Five seconds and he already had you seething.

Dean stopped sawing at your left bond. “Wanna bet?” His voice was steel. This was always the problem with the two of you. He wanted you safe, and you wanted to fight. He really would leave you tied to that chair. 

“No.” You hated to sound petulant, but you literally didn’t have the upper hand. “They’ve been spiking the punch. Some sort of ‘Bigot Surprise’ in the juice they hand out at these rallies.” You stopped and took a deep breath before you finished the briefing. “The President is coming.”

Dean stopped and leaned forward to look you in the eye. “The President-President? Is coming here?” You nodded. “So, that’s how he won.” Dean smiled ruefully. “Son of a bitch.” 

As soon as Dean had the last of your binds cut, you stood, and moments after that, there were gunshots and screaming coming from the other side of the room. 

“Sam?” you asked. 

Dean nodded. “And Aaron’s Golem.”

“That explains the screaming. They took my gun.”

Dean side-eyed you. You knew he was seconds from denying you a weapon, and you leaned as if to step—weaponless—into the fray. 

“Alright, alright. Here.” He handed you the spare Glock he always had on hand, but when you tried to grab it from him, he held on tight. “It’s really good to see you again, Y/N/N.”

“Yeah, yeah. No chick-flick moments.” You pecked him on the cheek after retrieving the gun from him, then you both ran across the room. 

Seeing her again and having her be so comfortably agitated with him so quickly brought back all sorts of memories. The three of them training at Bobby’s in the summer between school years, Y/N and him sneaking off campus to sit on Baby’s hood and watch the stars and ignore their looming midterms or finals. All the nights they’d spent together. There were some great memories. 

Then there was the last time he’d seen her. They had caught wind of a group of witches wreaking havoc on a town in the next state over, and Dean had refused to let Y/N come with them. They’d had a vicious fight; she’d even decked him square in the jaw. Dean stood his ground and refused to let her go, even after she threatened not to be there when he got back. After everything they’d been through together, he didn’t take her threat seriously until he’d gotten back to the house they’d all shared, and all of her things were gone. It had been a month until graduation, and she’d somehow managed to turn in all of her remaining projects online to earn her degrees. She was gone. 

Bobby had slapped him in the back of his head at graduation for “losing such a good thing.” Dean couldn’t even get mad at him for it, he’d deserved it, and it was less than he’d been doing to himself since she’d left. He couldn’t even find out where she was. She was better than him at everything. Ten years hadn’t changed her a bit. Hell, she’s probably tougher and smarter than she was when they were kids. Except that she’d gotten herself caught, and Dean had to come and save her. Not that Dean was stupid enough to mention that—again. 

She’d, apparently, single-handedly found out a major, nation-wide Thule master plan and had come to fight them. He’d almost forgotten how infuriatingly stubborn she could be.  _ What was she thinking?! They could have just killed her instead of using her as bait for me. _

The sound of screaming and gunshots brought him back to the task at hand, and he shook his head clear of nostalgia and anger. He’d deal with her later, or she’d deal with him, or, if he got lucky, maybe they’d deal with each other.  _ Head in the game, Winchester! _

“Dean,” Sam yelled for him, pointing at a man that was trying to run toward a door closest to Dean.

Dean took off running, then flying-tackled the man. His trusty leather jacket kept him from getting scraped up, but the man’s suit jacket tore at the impact. 

“You stupid boy,” the man spit at him in his horrible, German accent. 

They fought over Dean’s gun as he tried to shoot the Thule in the head. The guy’s grip was strong, but Dean literally had the upper-hand. It was like a scene out of some old action movie.

“You thought you could get rid of the Thule!” He threw his head back and laughed, distracting himself enough that Dean could twist his wrist and shoot him square in the forehead. 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I can get rid of the Thule, buddy.”

He joined the rest of his rag-tag team—his brother, Sam, Aaron’s Golem, and now Y/N—as they rounded up the stragglers and pressed them for information. How long had they been dosing people, would the effects wear off, is there an antidote, if they don’t? The kids that were left were not Thule, but assholes who thought their grandparents had it better. They were not the semi-immortal hardasses their partners were and told them everything that they knew. It was almost too easy. 

Knowing that the potion’s effects would wear off if not ingested regularly, Dean and his team destroyed the batch the neo-nazis had been working on. They also made sure to put the fear of Winchester into those kids, telling them to spread the word about the actual Nazis they were working for and that they were basically zombies that wanted to make more zombies. Hopefully, the kids would prefer not to be zombies; there was no use in trying to get them to see the error in their ways and become functionally decent members of society; Dean didn’t have the time for that; they had heads to chop and bodies to burn. 

Aaron met them at a dive bar downtown, and they gave him the low-down —t elling him how the President was involved and how they’d let the kids go with the threat of Winchesters and zombies on their asses. They had some drinks, and then everyone started to reminisce about the old days when they’d all worked together. They mostly shared funny stories, then they’d all raised a glass for Bobby. 

When the time came to head out, Y/N leaned into Dean’s side and whispered, “I’ve got a motel just down the street.”

When he pulled back to look her in the eye to see if she was fucking with him, he saw that her eyes were clear, and she was chewing on her smirk. Damn, if he didn’t miss her. 

“Yeah, alright. Here ya go, Sammy,” Dean called out as he threw his keys across the table. 

Sam caught them with a swipe of his massive paw and eyed him warily. “You sure about this?” he asked, but he wasn’t looking at Dean; his gaze was steady on Y/N.

“Yeah, I can take him.” She smiled and waved at them before turning and walking away, leaving Dean staring at her ass before shooting a look at his brother then running after her. 

Her motel room door had barely closed before she had Dean by the lapels and was shoving him into it, her mouth hot on his neck. His hands instinctively landed on her hips. The smell of her sweaty hair filled his senses, it had been so long since he’d had her in his arms, but she was just as familiar as she had been ten years before. 

Their clothes littered the floor as they fell into bed. Y/N was just as hungry as he was, and all he could do was lie back and take it. She pinned him to the bed and sank down on him with no pretense. Dean shoved his head into the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut. She was so hot and tight around him; he was not going to last. He grabbed her hips and held on as she rode him with precision. 

She leaned forward and kissed him hard as she squeezed his cock inside of her. Something that he had mentioned loving once upon a time; no one knew how to fuck him like Y/N. He’d had wet dreams about her over the years, and there she was riding him like old times in a dingy motel room. Dean could feel himself getting closer, muscles jerking, vision going blurry. As if she were a freaking psychic, she reached behind herself and grabbed his balls, causing him to convulse and come like she’d hit a magic button. 

Never one to finish first and only, Dean brought his right hand forward and rubbed over her clit. After only a few practiced strokes, she came, wringing him dry. She stayed on top of him, only moving to lay down across him, both of their chests heaving. 

“God, I missed that!” She spoke into his neck. 

He wrapped his hands around her and hugged her tight, breathing her in while he still could. 

“Yeah, me, too.” 

As right as they were together, all they ever did was fight; as good as the makeup sex was, all they ever did was hurt each other. It was better that she had run out all those years ago; she had known it; he’d figured it out later. He held her until their heartbeats settled, and their sweat began to cool. 

They got dressed in silence, not talking about all the things they weren’t going to talk about. Y/N went to the mini-fridge and grabbed a couple of beers, angling one at him in an offering.

“Nah, I really should get going. I have an 8 am class Monday morning.”

“Oh, right. Don’t wanna have too much fun over the weekend,  _ Professor _ Winchester.”

Man, the way she just said his name. He groaned, and his spent cock gave a valiant, interested twitch. “You’re making it awful hard to leave, Y/N.”

Her smile turned sad, and she looked away. “I know. It’s just. I missed you, Dean.”

He walked over to her and wrapped his hands around hers. “I missed you, too, Y/N/N. But, you and me, we’re no good together. You knew that.” 

She grinned, wrapped his arms around herself, and buried her head in his chest. “Yeah, I know. But, still….”

He allowed himself to hold her for a few minutes before he decided it would be harder to leave than stay. Then he kissed the top of her head. “Good night, Y/N/N. Take care of yourself.”

“You, too, Dean.” Before he could shut the door, she added, “And, Dean.”

He turned around halfway out the door. “Yeah?”

“Don’t be a stranger."

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Don't be shy; let me know what you think! 
> 
> Who would like to see more of these two?? There are multiple Indy movies after all!


End file.
